My mistress’ lips are colourless and dull,
Her eyes are so opaque that I get bored,
There grows no hair upon the ugly skull,
The tits are flatter than an ironing board.
Her cheeks are not like roses fresh and young,
They urge me to go out somewhere to wench,
And as compared with fragrances of dung
My lady’s breath is a disgusting stench.
There’s nothing of a goddess in her gait
And in her voice of music not a spark,
She creeps and limps, a humpy crippled jade,
I close my ears hearing her grunt and bark.
Considering all this you may conclude
She neither whores nor stars at Hollywood.
